


Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art

by serapheim



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Aramis POV, Best Friends, Drinking, F/M, First Impressions, First Meetings, Friendship/Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Multi, Romantic Friendship, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-03-05 11:37:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3118715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serapheim/pseuds/serapheim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One night club, one drunken friend, one new meeting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Donna_Immaculata](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donna_Immaculata/gifts).



> Wrote it a month ago and meant as an Xmas gift, but I got cold feet.  
> My first dip into AU/modern verse that I have been finding so alluring lately.  
> Unbetaed and most probably containing too many typos.

The combination of loud music and chatter was making it almost impossible to hear what was being said to him. His friend was gesturing, clearly engaged in his own story, grinning and occasionally bumping his shoulder against Aramis’. All Aramis had caught so far was something about Portugal and oysters. He had no idea what was the story about, but he obligingly laughed, when his friend paused, clearly expecting some sort of reaction, and earned a grin in return. 

 

And what a nice grin it was. It created a lovely web of crinkles around the man's eyes, and even a thin scar that ran from his eyebrow down to his left cheek made his face even more attractive. There was a liquid warmth in those eyes too, enticing and all too familiar. 

 

Aramis smiled into his drink and then clapped his friend's shoulder. “That's quite a story,” he shouted over the music, leaning close and letting his hand linger for a bit. 

 

His friend grinned again. “Let me tell you what happened next!” he shouted back. Aramis could smell wine and stale cigarettes in his breath, but somehow he found even that attractive. 

 

Porthos was his friend. He was straight, engaged to a lovely girl, and very, very happy. 

 

And still, in spite of that all, Aramis knew that if he leaned right then and there and kissed him, in front of everyone, including his fiancée, who was dancing somewhere in the crowd, Porthos would not pull away. He could read that in the way Porthos’ eyes kept finding his own, in how often he bumped shoulders with Aramis, in the way his skin seemed to radiate warmth through the layers of clothing under Aramis’ hand. 

 

There was a certain power in that knowledge. It was a secret that only Aramis was privy to. He felt taller, stronger with that knowledge, content with the realization that he wouldn't do it, even if he wanted it, even if he could. 

 

“Let me buy you another drink, my friend,” Aramis shouted over the music. Porthos grinned at him and let himself be stirred towards the bar. 

 

“If I didn't know you, I'd think, you were trying to get me drunk to have your wicked way with me,” Porthos shouted over the shoulder. 

 

“What?” Aramis shouted back, having missed the sentence completely as he was distracted for a moment by a girl who stumbled into his path. She yelled an apology, and Aramis sidestepped her, smiling. 

 

Joining Porthos at the bar, Aramis leaned into his warm shoulder, “What did you say again?”

 

“Nothing.” Porthos grinned at him, and Aramis was once again mesmerized by the dimples and the whiteness of his teeth. “Buy me a drink.”

 

Yes, thought Aramis, he definitely could. 

 

He bought a drink, then another and another. With every shot that Aramis had, the music seemed louder, the voices more indistinguishable. At some point he started feeling suffocated by the crowd and stumbled outside for a quick smoke.

 

There were other smokers outside in various stages of inebriation. A couple of girls were giggling loudly and taking selfies. Aramis fished out a cigarette from a rather crumpled pack and was about to light it when a voice behind him said, “May I borrow your light?”

 

It was such a cultured and posh voice, so at odds with the regular crowd of the place, that it cut through the haze in Aramis mind. He turned around and stared at the man in front of him. Styled hair, a beard, a half-buttoned shirt of a loveliest dark red colour, and the eyes, so crystal blue that they seemed to glow in the dark. 

 

Aramis gaped at the man, who he huffed and repeated with a slight annoyance in his voice, “May I have your light?” He waived a hand with a cigarette to emphasize his words. 

 

Aramis moved on autopilot, flicking his lighter and offering it to the stranger, instead of passing the lighter itself. The man inhaled deeply and then let out the smoke through his nose. 

 

“Thanks, mate,” he said; his voice seemed to go even lower.

 

Aramis’ mouth went dry. He suddenly went from tipsy to stone sober and very, _very_ interested. 

 

“You're welcome,” Aramis said, lighting his own cigarette. He didn't step back, but on the contrary remained right in front of the man, even stepping slightly closer as he let two giggling girls walk past him into a club. 

 

“Have you been to this club before?” asked Aramis. He winced mentally, because this was no better than a trite “come here often” pick up line, and he usually had more style than that. But it was difficult to concentrate after all those drinks that Porthos kept asking for, and, seriously, keeping up with Porthos was going to take its tall on Aramis’ liver one day, and the man kept flickering his blue eyes at Aramis and it was doing some strange things to Aramis’ heartbeat.

 

The man huffed what Aramis assumed stood for a laugh. “Do I look like someone who comes to these places?” he shot back, and Aramis smiled, charmingly, and admitted that, no, he didn’t fit the crowd.

 

“I came to see a friend,” the man said. 

 

Aramis opened his mouth to ask about his friend, because he needed to know more, he needed to know _what_ sort of friend it was, but then the door of the club opened, letting out a mix of music and shouts, followed by Porthos. 

 

Porthos paused and then saw Aramis and growled.

 

“Aramis,” he said, reproachfully, “How could you leave me alone there? I had to talk to Collins’s wife. And you know how she is.” He mock shuddered. 

 

Then his gaze landed on the man by Aramis’ side, who turned and was gazing at Porthos with a little crooked half-smile, and suddenly Porthos bellowed, “Athos!”, and enveloped the stranger in a big hug. 

 

The man seemed to be quite pleased to be on receiving end of such display of affection, and he even hugged Porthos back for a moment and then heaved, “Porthos, my friend - my ribs!” 

 

Porthos let him go, but didn't step away and clapped the man on the shoulder. 

 

“So good to see you, Athos! I thought you wouldn't come!” Porthos grinned and then looked at Aramis. “Aramis, let me introduce you to my old friend, Athos. He recently moved back to Paris, and we finally met!”

 

Aramis smiled his Cheshire Cat smile and shook the man’s hand, that he found pleasantly warm and strong. 

 

“So, you have been out of town?” said Aramis, looking into Athos’ eyes and feeling his excitement building, as the man met his gaze and nodded. “Good, because I was about to complain to Porthos for having not introduced us sooner,” Aramis sent a teasing glance to Porthos, who rolled his eyes. “I think it is quite fortunate that we have met here.” Aramis almost purred last sentence, which made Athos look away for a second, obviously uncomfortable.

 

“Aramis, a word,” Porthos said suddenly and without waiting for Aramis’ response, dragged him by the arm to another side of the entrance, a few feet away from Athos.

 

“What's wrong?” asked Aramis, because Porthos never did this, never interfered with any of Aramis' conquests, unless he felt that Aramis was going to get his ass kicked. But even then, he would probably wait till the very last minute, as he knew that Aramis could stand for himself.

 

“Look, I usually don’t say this, but back off, ok?” Porthos rubbed the back of his head, slightly uncomfortable, “Athos is a friend. And he is not, he is not gay.”

 

“Do not tell me he is not at least bi-curious,” pleaded Aramis desperately, staring at the man in question. Athos was still smoking, quite pointedly not looking in their direction. His lips were pursed for a moment, his mouth moving in a funny way, as if he was saying something under his breath.Those lips were having quite a strong effect on Aramis' lower regions. It was not fair.

 

“I don’t know, to be honest,” said Porthos. He looked uncomfortable.

 

“Then I should find it out!” Aramis concluded, his eyes sparkling with a new target in sight.

 

Aramis already turned to stalk his prey, but before he could march back to Athos, Porthos grabbed both of his arms and spin him around. “Look,” he said with more urgency this time, “Don't do this. Please, Aramis, just not him. Anyone but him.”

 

Aramis stared at Porthos. Porthos’ face looked grim, and he was biting his lip, but he was looking straight into Aramis’ eyes. Aramis could tell that his friend was being quite serious about it.

 

“Why?” Aramis asked, curious, and unable to stop himself.

 

“Shit, you are not letting it go, are you?” Aramis shook his head.

 

Porthos let go of Aramis’ arms and brushed his fingers through his locks in obvious frustration. They never kept secrets from each other, Aramis knew that. Honesty was what had attracted Aramis to Porthos all those years ago. Honesty and loyalty. He idly wondered if Porthos was going start lying to him now, seeing as Aramis had never heard about Athos in the first place. 

 

“Athos is not interested in anyone,” said Porthos finally. He was speaking in a low tone, making sure than none of his words would carry to the man they were talking about. “He, he had a very bad experience once. And when I say bad, I mean really bad, Aramis. And he sort of stopped. He is not dating. I haven't seen him dating a woman, or a man for that matter, for years.” 

 

Porthos looked briefly at Athos and then turned away. “I know you, Aramis. I know you don’t want to hurt anyone, but it does happen. You go around breaking people's hearts, and Athos - he won't be able to handle you. He won't even let youthis close. I am just trying to save you the trouble.” 

 

Aramis could tell that Porthos was being honest. He felt more intrigued than discouraged though, and he knew that it was the exact opposite of what Porthos was trying to achieve. Intrigued and jealous, if Aramis were completely honest with himself. Not only he had never heard about Athos before, but now his best friend was defending his virtue from Aramis himself.

 

It had never happened before.

 

In spite of what some people might say about him, Aramis knew and respected the boundaries. He got carried away more often than he cared to admit, but he still knew when to quit. Perhaps, Porthos still had a point. Aramis hadn’t _always_ been careful with his lovers. 

 

Except for Porthos. Aramis was always extra careful with the man who had taken possession of his heart.

 

‘Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art,’ thought Aramis, and he had to bite the inside of his lip to prevent himself from laughing. 

 

“Fine,” Aramis said finally, shrugging and affecting the air of nonchalance, as if it was a no big deal, “I am still going to buy the guy a drink and be friendly to him. He _is_ your friend after all.” 

 

Porthos beamed at him, as if Aramis had said exactly what Porthos wantedto hear, and Aramis couldn't help putting his arm around his friend’s shoulders and bringing him closer, until their foreheads touched. “You know that I would do anything for you, Porthos,” Aramis said, only half joking, “Even let a man go.”

 

Because this was what he had been doing for years now - letting Porthos go. And if Porthos wanted him, he was going to let everyone else go too.

 

“Yes,” Porthos whispered, “I know.” 

 

His breath ghosted over Aramis’ lips, sweet and tempting, and it was so hard, so impossibly difficult not to chase those words back into Porthos’ mouth. Aramis could almost taste their kiss, the wetness of Porthos’ tongue, the clash of teeth and scrape of the stubble. 

 

Aramis knew that he could do it, oh, so he could. But he wouldn’t.

 

Perhaps, one day, but not today.

 

 

//

 

 

CXXXI.

 

Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, 

As those whose beauties proudly make them 

cruel;

For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart 

Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel. 

Yet, in good faith, some say that thee behold, 

Thy face hath not the power to make love

groan: 

To say they err I dare not be so bold, 

Although I swear it to myself alone. 

And to be sure that is not false I swear, 

A thousand groans, but thinking on thy face, 

One on another's neck, do witness bear 

Thy black is fairest in my judgment's place. 

In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds, 

And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If someone had told him a year ago, that he would become close friends with this slightly enigmatic, very attractive and intelligent man, Aramis would have laughed in their face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, my finger slipped ;)

Aramis had a problem. And currently his problem was walking back and forth in front of him, barefoot and completely untouchable. 

 

Aramis was sprawled on the floor, leaning back against the couch, and watched Athos pace the short distance between the kitchen and the living room. Athos was wearing a white shirt, which was only half-buttoned to Aramis’ grief, and rolled up blue jeans. 

 

Athos was frowning, caught in the creative process, and only hummed in reply to Aramis’ occasional babbling. Aramis was quite content to watch his friend from his position and was not in the least concerned about the fact that Athos was not listening to him at all.

 

Aramis had turned up on Athos’ doorstep two hours ago, carrying a bottle of excellent Bordeaux and an apologetic smile. Athos, bless his heart, had let him in, but told him sternly to let him finish the verse he had been working on. 

 

“Sure,” said Aramis and then proceeded to consume the aforementioned wine and enjoy the view in front of him. 

 

If someone had told him a year ago, that he would become close friends with this slightly enigmatic, very attractive and intelligent man, Aramis would have laughed in their face. They had nothing in common, except for their friend Porthos, who had been overly protective of Athos for a while. It took Aramis sometime to persuade him that he, indeed, was not going to try anything. That he was content being friends and admiring from afar.

 

Athos hadn’t been easy to crack. He seemed aloof but only on the surface. Aramis was delighted to learn that the man had a wicked sense of humour, and his biting remarks often rivalled Aramis’. 

 

At first Athos had been quiet and cautious around Aramis, until one day the three of them had gotten spectacularly drunk, and that seemed to have broken the ice. 

 

Now Athos seemed more open, more trusting towards Aramis. He would clasp a hand on his shoulder or even clip his head, when Aramis was being a nuisance. He would tease him with a half-smirk hidden in his beard, and Aramis found out that he was ready to make a complete fool of himself just to see the man’s face crinkle and his eyes light up.

 

To put it short, Aramis was head over heels in love with Athos, the man that he had promised Porthos never to touch.

 

And what was even worse - those feelings did nothing to reduce his burning love for Porthos.

 

Aramis sighed. 

 

“I am so fucked up,” he said out loud. The red wine was gone, and he had switched to gin. It was bitter and too sour, but Aramis wanted to get drunk, so he poured himself another splash of it, topping it with soda.

 

Athos hummed approvingly. He was working on a Latin to French translation of some medieval poem, the fact of which Aramis found both incredibly boring and surprisingly sexy. 

 

Speaking of sexy - Aramis’ gaze travelled up and down Athos’ jeans clad legs. He didn’t dare his eyes to linger, as he felt that he was taking advantage of the moment here. Athos was too distracted to notice him looking. Aramis knew that but at the same time he couldn’t help himself.

 

Through the unbuttoned shirt, Aramis could see a glittering chain - a pedant that Athos never took off and never spoke about, even when asked - and a splash of curly chest hair. He wondered if it was soft to the touch. And then shifted uncomfortably, feeling his own jeans tighten at the groin.

 

Aramis found the man’s bare feet alluring. He was truly fucked up.

 

He shifted and took another swing of gin. 

 

The silence was getting to Aramis though. He was worried that he might say something inappropriate, or even worse - _do_ something, and then Porthos would kill him. Or at least hurt him a lot. Aramis winced at the thought. 

 

Athos sighed ,and there was a certain finality to the sound. Aramis mentally congratulated himself on having apparently catalogued all of Athos’ sighs, when his friend announced, “I think I am done.”

 

“Vivat!” Aramis toasted him with his glass and earned a small smile. 

 

Athos walked to his desk in the corner and disposed the papers on top of a book. Then he stretched his arms above his head, providing Aramis with an enticing glimpse of his waistline as his shirt rode up, and then walked back to the couch and sprawled Aramis. 

 

“Where’s the wine?” He asked. 

 

Aramis grinned sheepishly.

 

Athos rolled eyes, “So, you barge in with a bottle of wine and then drink it all without sparing your generous host even a small sip?”

 

“Here’s gin,” Aramis took an empty glass that had been sitting on the coffee table all that time and mixed the same amount of gin and soda as he had done himself.

 

Athos accepted the glass, graciously, draining a half of its contents in one go, set it down on the table and grabbed his cigarette case. He stepped over Aramis’ stretched legs, lowered himself on the couch, and lied down.

 

Aramis turned his head and watched Athos take out a cigarette and light it up. Aramis’ head was resting on the couch next to Athos’ thigh. It felt too intimate to be this close, but Athos didn’t seem to be uncomfortable, and Aramis didn’t want to move. 

 

Athos was smoking, exhaling the smoke towards the ceiling, his right hand above his head on the armrest. Aramis could see the column of his throat and the movement of his Adam’s apple as the man swallowed. Athos looked both tired and relaxed, and so achingly beautiful, that Aramis feared his heart would burst with the love for this man.

 

“I want to tell you something,” whispered Aramis. 

 

His heart thudded in his chest. His hands felt clammy. He felt his knees shaking even though he was sitting on the floor.

 

Athos turned his head slightly and looked at him. His blue eyes looked surreal in the artificial light.

 

Aramis licked his lips. 

 

“I am in love with Porthos,” he blurted out.

 

Athos’ eyes softened, and Aramis hated himself for not being able to tell the truth. He was not lying. He was still in love with Porthos. But Porthos was not here. He was somewhere else with Alice. And Athos was here, and Aramis _was_ in love with _him_ too.

 

Athos’s left hand dropped on top of Aramis’ head, and that was just too much. Aramis buried his face into the couch fabric and Athos’ warm thigh. He could feel hot tears burn in his eyes.

 

He had promised Porthos that he would not hurt Athos, and that was exactly what he was doing - not hurting Athos, but stabbing his own heart in the process.

 

Athos’ fingers moved in Aramis’ hair. He was being petted like a dog, Aramis thought hysterically, because that was what he was. A stray dog who was striving for affection of anyone who would give it to him. A dog that would wag its tail and roll onto its back just to feel loved. Aramis bit his lip to contain a sob.

 

“Porthos is engaged,” Athos said softly, and that was only one half of the truth. The other half wast that Porthos was not gay and that he was not in love with Aramis. Aramis felt insanely grateful that he didn’t say that out loud.

 

Athos continued petting Aramis’ hair. He didn’t move or protested against Aramis pressing his face into his thigh.

 

“I know,” Aramis chocked out.

 

“Are you sure you are in love with him, Aramis?” Athos’ voice was neutral and only inquiring, but the words still stung.

 

Aramis raised his head, his face red from where it was pressed to the fabric, and said, “It’s been five bloody years, Athos. Of course, I am sure.” 

 

He didn’t feel angry or upset though. He had been asking himself the same question for years, and even though Aramis never doubted that Porthos loved him - as his best friend and a brother - he didn’t think Porthos had ever been in love with him.

 

Athos looked sadly at him. His hand moved from the top of Aramis’ head to caress his cheek, and Aramis shamelessly leaned into the touch.

 

“I know how it feels,” whispered Athos, and Aramis had never heard him sound like that or say anything like this, “to be in love with someone you can never have.”

 

There was such a raw emotion in Athos’ voice, that Aramis found himself at a loss. It was one of those extremely rare moments - which Aramis learned to cherish and collect like precious stones - when an enormous heart capable of a great feeling shined through a composed facade. 

 

Aramis turned his head and kissed the palm that was cupping his cheek. 

 

“I am sorry,” he whispered, knowing that those words were nothing compared to the pain he could read in Athos’ eyes. 

 

“I am sorry too,” said Athos.

 

Aramis turned away, grabbed Athos’ glass and passed it to his friend. He took a deep sip himself and settled back with his head next to Athos’ thigh.

 

As the clock ticked, they remained there in total silence, each lost in their thoughts and emotions. 

 

Athos’s hand never stopped petting Aramis’ hair, and for the time being it was enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a one-shot story, but then this happened. There might be one more story, but I am not completely sure yet. 
> 
> All typos are mine. Unbetaed.

**Author's Note:**

> I can not write good summaries or tag anything properly, so if you would like to lend me hand there, I will be very grateful.


End file.
